The Green Light
by Blinded Ryter
Summary: Four very different boys cross paths, and have nothing in common, except that they will break away and run looking to the green light. Rydon, Joncer


The Green Light  
By Blinded Ryter

_For the kids whom I'm trying to teach that they're not alone in the world._

"I. The Failure"  
**(Brendon)**

Amorphous dark shadows played against the walls, and flickered upon the crevices in the ceiling in a surreal dance. There was a mocking, acrimonous, caustic manner to their subtle movements. Perhaps it was the reflection of the demons eating away at my sanity second by second, or simply my odd sense of observation. I sat in the small space between the sofas set in the upstairs living room dressed in my night clothes. With my knees drawn to my chest, and my arms linked around my legs, I rested my chin upon my arms, and gazed dimly at the faded carpet as I listened to the voice that was struggling to conceal the trembilng note.

_"...I don't understand why he..."_

The upstairs living room had an opened space where I could listen to anything spoken throughout the first floor, and conveniently enough, I could hear what was being said best from the kitchen where Mom was. I could imagine her sitting at the kitchen table with the phone in one hand, her other hand holding her head, and her eyes glistening with tears. The dim kitchen light would cast its cold rays upon her dark locks, thus giving them that beautiful tint of blue in the highlights. Those decliate fingers of an artist constantly brushing over the damp cheeks, the slender elbows set upon the table's surface.

I could imagine it so clearly, because more than once I caught a glimpse of her coming out from a locked bedroom door at night with tints of scarlet around her eyes, and that look of utter misery etched upon her delicate face.

That is, until she saw me.

There would be the flicker of alarm across her face.

Then a beaming smile that lit her up like dawn appearing in the midst of the darkest night.

I was still tweleve only a few days ago.  
But thirteen is still a "child" to the world.

They treat people like me like mice, but I can see.

_(The anguish clouded over her eyes.)_

I can hear.

_("...I don't know how much longer I can do this." )_

I can feel.

_(Slide. Lacerate. Bleed. Breathe.)_

But I don't understand.

_(Love? Too different? Changed? Weary? D...D-D-....Divorce?)_

When another strangled sob escaped into the air, I remained still and silent.

But when I heard her laugh, and knew that she was smiling to stay strong, I closed my eyes, and let a scalding droplet trickle down the side of my passive face.

I believed that mother was an angel, and I was blessed with her. I didn't deserver her; she was too good to me. She had peace of mind, kindess of the heart, and never turned me away like most parents of this era. But if so, why did she have to endure such suffering? Why did she have to hurt so much, when she deserved so much more? Why was it that she came to love a man that changed so drastically?

Why did she have to be so miserable?

Was it because of me?

Mother couldn't go to the famous art university in France, because she was pregnant with me, and that guilt...that guilt caused an acerbic taste to tint my tongue, and made the demons even more hungry.

Was it me that held her back from a once in a lifetime chance?

Was it me that kept her tied to Father?

Would she have been happier without me?

_"Have a good day, Brendon!"_

But...

_"You made a 98? God, Brendon, we need to celebrate!"_

When ever I see her smiles.

_"You just don't see how amazing you are, love."_

Hear her care-free laughter.

_"You wrote this piece, Brendon? It's so beautiful."_

Feel the warmth of her embrace.

_"I love you, Brendon."_

I think...

That just maybe.

Maybe it's okay for me to be alive.

Maybe it was okay for me to have been born.

But Dad.

Father.  
That man.  
That stranger.

Do I love him?  
I suppose, somewhere deep down inside, but...

For certain  
I pity him.

Father comes home once a month for two to four days, because of his work as an attorney, but I don't miss him; I miss the Dad the man used to me.

I call that man Father in my head, not out of greater respect, but because of our growing rift...

He never wanted me.

To him, I am only a failure.

A mistake.

A waste of breath.

A "foolish and naive young man with his heads up in the clouds", because of my passion for music, and dream to become a pianist.

When he comes home, Father smiles at me, and speaks words of affection.

But his eyes.

Says otherwise.

_"You disappoint me."_

I will never be good enough for that man.

And it hurts more than you could ever imagine.

When I heard another light-hearted laughter from downstairs, my eyes fluttered open. I clamped down hard on my lips to hold back the sobs, though it was obvious I was crying due to the sheer anguish etched upon my face, and my body trembling. Staying still and silent, I diverted my gaze above to the window, and blinked when I saw a green light.

I wondered why I never noticed the green light before. There it was, blinking on and off. Perhaps it was something at the docks, but right now, it was like God giving me something to look up to, instead of always looking down upon myself.

I looked to the green light.

Clenching my fists, I prayed desperately.

_'Please help my mother. Please let things get better. Please.'_

---

Blinded Ryter: This is a new style I have picked up while I was writing on Mibba. Point of views will change for each chapter, but I've written the story out as to where it should not be confusing.

I am writing The Green Light from my own sufferings and other people's sufferings

Their lonliness  
Their anguish  
Their pain

Bluntly put, I have grown tired of the bullshit people have been giving to me, to you, and to us. The world, the society, the schools, and the parents feed us lies that we are the future of the world- a future that is bright and happy, and yet what about _now_. What about the present time when there are kids hurting and suffering right now? This is my attempt to show you readers that every single person you meet is going through a hard time. Every single stranger has a mask, a farce, a facade to hide wounds that untouchable, therefore unspeakable.

I only have one thing to ask of you:

"Be **kind** - _for everyone is fighting a hard battle_."


End file.
